I can't remember when this little gem reared its head. A week or two ago. I heard about it via the morning show, and couldn't believe my happy wee hazel eyes when it popped up in the Herald online again today. I loved it the first time. I loved it even more when I saw April's response to the furor.
Linky to the Herald snippet vis a vis ... I simply can't do it justice. You have to read.
The thing I love about this is that every woman knows (as do most men come to that and men are usually abominably dense about such matters) that you never ask a woman if she's pregnant unless she's waving a pee-sodden positive pregnancy test in your face. Or, you know, she looks like she's carrying an entire football team and is obviously about to pop any second and you feel it would be wise to get out of dodge in case something gross happens while you may be within compulsory-assistance-giving distance. And by any second I mean any second.
Never.
Never ever.
Case in point - Pal Stu has dared me to look blankly at the first person who asks me about my own rapidly expanding girth and assure whoever the poor bastard/bastardess is that I'm not pregnant at all. Mortified looks are optional. But, so far, despite said rapidly expanding girth, I've had many a sideways look and so far no opportunity, and just quietly, I'm a little pissed off just in case people do think No. 9 is just pies.
You don't even make jokes like that to your BFF (Tee hee. I'm 30 years old and I just used BFF in my blog. I love it). Even if it's your BFF to infinity and beyond (unless she started it) (I thought the to infinity and beyond was the only way to make BFF cooler). You. Will. Get. Killed. Husbands are OK ...there's not too much risk there. But anyone else? Nada.
And seriously? Because she was glowing? Because her boobs looked big? She says she hadn't seen Leah in six years (I think ... I have no trust in my memory at the moment) ... what did she do? Measure them last time? I couldn't tell you how big the last pair of boobs were that I saw today, let alone a random pair I saw six years ago. And glowing? I'm guessing, in the most affectionate way possible for I do adore dear Leah's sense of humour and I know she'd see the funny side, that it was a Chardonnay related glow. Surely if April knew Leah well enough to examine her boobs, she'd know about the wine thing? Surely?
Which leads me to the same conclusion that no doubt everyone else has reached. April is either completely stupid, which I doubt, because we've all seen her in the magazines and she's no stranger to errr ... weighty issues ... and therefore knows exactly why and when one should keep one's cake hole firmly shut. No, not stupid. Evil enough to not only make the comment, but wear the embarrassment factor of making such a terrible mistake? That'd be my guess kiddies.
As for how this ends, all I can say is saucer of milk, table for two, and for heavens sake, someone get me a popcorn before the next round!
And bless them both a thousand times for giving me something to unleash all these pent-up pregnancy hormones on.
(I've just realised that I'm not 30 either. That's next year. Woops. I blame the hormones. Still, 29 and using BFF is easily as excellent as being 30 and using it.)
Monday 30 June 2008
Friday 27 June 2008
Whipping the husband will forever be a work in progress
Me "Why are there muddy, size 13 footprints on the carpet?"
The husband "Probably because my shoes were muddy."
Me "Weeelll ... do you think you should take the muddy shoes off?"
The husband, baffled "Why? They're clean now"
The husband, taking off his (still very muddy) shoes and showing them to me soles up to prove it without looking at them himself "See? Clean!"
Me "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The husband, looks at his shoes "Oh"
Oh, indeed.
And yet he somehow remains impervious to my death-stare. Even my new-improved pregnancy-hormone assisted death-stare.
Go figure.
The husband "Probably because my shoes were muddy."
Me "Weeelll ... do you think you should take the muddy shoes off?"
The husband, baffled "Why? They're clean now"
The husband, taking off his (still very muddy) shoes and showing them to me soles up to prove it without looking at them himself "See? Clean!"
Me "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The husband, looks at his shoes "Oh"
Oh, indeed.
And yet he somehow remains impervious to my death-stare. Even my new-improved pregnancy-hormone assisted death-stare.
Go figure.
Wednesday 25 June 2008
The post that speaks for itself
See that little white box thing to the right of the hot water cylinder?
That's an on/off switch.
Modifications the husband has made after the electrician turned the cylinder back on...
Tee hee.
DOH!!
We woke up this morning to no hot water. None. Not even a smidge.
I was first alerted to this fact when the husband took a shower ... for about 15 seconds, and then shivered his way into the bedroom, his skin an alarming shade of blue. You can imagine what temperature the water was in the context of us having had constant hailstorms from about 5pm last night.
It appears that there is something veeeery wrong with our hot water cylinder. And, believe me, we were both cheered heartily when we squinted our way into the hot water cupboard, and saw that the blooming thing is 20 years old, and has, quite likely, shat itself.
Which also means that we may have no hot water for a day or two (or *gulp* more) while we sort out a new cylinder/a califont/a new element/whatever the hell we need to sort out. Here's hoping not. At least I seem to have a reliable electrical company on standby who have promised, cross their hearts hope to die stick a needle in their eye, to come this afternoon. I swear, if they don't turn up today I am going to go so hormonal on their asses.
I was first alerted to this fact when the husband took a shower ... for about 15 seconds, and then shivered his way into the bedroom, his skin an alarming shade of blue. You can imagine what temperature the water was in the context of us having had constant hailstorms from about 5pm last night.
It appears that there is something veeeery wrong with our hot water cylinder. And, believe me, we were both cheered heartily when we squinted our way into the hot water cupboard, and saw that the blooming thing is 20 years old, and has, quite likely, shat itself.
Which also means that we may have no hot water for a day or two (or *gulp* more) while we sort out a new cylinder/a califont/a new element/whatever the hell we need to sort out. Here's hoping not. At least I seem to have a reliable electrical company on standby who have promised, cross their hearts hope to die stick a needle in their eye, to come this afternoon. I swear, if they don't turn up today I am going to go so hormonal on their asses.
Tuesday 24 June 2008
The difference between me and Nicole Kidman
Because you know there's only one.
Nicole Kidman at about 30 weeks ...
Me with about 30 weeks to go ...
Maybe it's the cheese on toast ...? I have a feeling Nicole Kidman doesn't eat cheese on toast.
Why oh why doesn't she look like a hippo?
The kiddly house has taken on a slightly strange shape in the last week ...which you can't really see in the pic, so I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. It's almost a bit of a double bump because it sticks out at my belly button, kinda caves in a bit, and then goes out again heading up to my rib cage. I guess that's No.9 shoving all my internal organs into weird and wonderful places to make way for him/her to pop out of my pelvis in the next few weeks. For the moment, we'll pretend it's a good thing because No. 9 is causing me to improve my posture. Any hint of a slouch gives an uncomfortably strange my-insides-are-being-completely-squashed-and-it-feels-like-my-stomach-is-in-my-chest-argh-is-that-indigestion?? sensation. Cool.
On the yippee! front however, I'm out of my maternity jeans temporarily, and back into my beloved, super comfy, half dead, normal jeans. A freakish kind of 'progress', yes, but there you go. I think it's attributable to the massive bloating post-IVF settling down, and the kiddly house moving up slightly.
I do still wonder at what point it will truly feel real that we're going to have this kid. Or a kid even. Any kid. Us. A kid. Aside from the slightly worrying prospect of the powers that be allowing the husband and I to raise another person, it still feels a bit like we're in a bubble. I look at the early scan pic of No. 9 that we were given a couple of weeks ago (which I can't work out how to load because I wasn't that much of a genius before No. 9 took my last remaining brain cell) and it still feels ... incredible ...as thought it must really be happening to someone else.
Actually, looking at that belly pic, it may just be quite a good idea to pretend it is someone else.
Definition of woops
Ordering via online store (because you are a lazy tart) the coolest present known to kid (Sooo worth the price tag. Especially if he makes me pancakes) for your nephew who you're going to vist at the weekend, reading the shipping terms the next day, and finding out that delivery normally takes around 14 days, therefore requiring you to do copious amounts of asking very nicely (slash begging slash pulling on heartstrings) for the coolest present known to kid to be held at a store near you so that you can arrange to have it picked up by one hour courier at some horrendous cost (although less horrendous cost than if it was delivered in 14 days time and you had to post it under the new NZ Post horrendous charging rates).
Oh yes. Woops indeed.
Oh yes. Woops indeed.
Tales from the trenches
On the drawbacks of the kid having my sense of humour:
Note to self - Do not muse out loud with any form of glee that your morning sickness appears to be coming to an end. In fact, do not speak of it at all. If you by chance have a day or two off puking, shut the hell up and enjoy it. The kid has ears.
On the drawbacks of the kid having impeccable timing:
At 3.45am yesterday morning, my cat threw up on the carpet in the bedroom.
Believe me when I tell you that I was seriously rethinking this pregnancy thing when, very soon after I'd cleaned up and gotten back into bed the kid decided that since I'd been up, it must be morning, and therefore time for morning sickness.
On my brains having fallen out of my ears:
Late last week, the husband was cooking dinner but couldn't find the steak I'd gotten out to defrost earlier in the day. I could distinctly remember liberating it from the freezer, so the question was where the hell had I put it? We turned the house upside down envisaging steak rotting away in a corner somewhere, only to find it, eventually, outside in the recycling bin. Bless.
Sorry about the lack of No. 9 updates. I can't believe we are 10 weeks today - a quarter of the way there. It still seems completely surreal, minuscule bladder and puking included. But, I'm loving every second of it. Except for Saturday night ... No. 9 successfully reversed everything I've eaten, and a few things I'm sure I didn't, for about the last three weeks over a period of about half an hour. It wasn't pretty. Even the husband looked a bit green (I do wicked sound effects. I'm all about sharing the pain) when I eventually emerged from hell.
I'll have the husband take a pic of the kiddly house (which has taken on a rather strange shape I have to say) tonight.
And now, I absolutely have to eat a sugar donut. It's going to end in tears, I know, but it's a game kiddly and I love to play. Especially if I manage to partially digest it! It's like Christmas only ... not.
Note to self - Do not muse out loud with any form of glee that your morning sickness appears to be coming to an end. In fact, do not speak of it at all. If you by chance have a day or two off puking, shut the hell up and enjoy it. The kid has ears.
On the drawbacks of the kid having impeccable timing:
At 3.45am yesterday morning, my cat threw up on the carpet in the bedroom.
Believe me when I tell you that I was seriously rethinking this pregnancy thing when, very soon after I'd cleaned up and gotten back into bed the kid decided that since I'd been up, it must be morning, and therefore time for morning sickness.
On my brains having fallen out of my ears:
Late last week, the husband was cooking dinner but couldn't find the steak I'd gotten out to defrost earlier in the day. I could distinctly remember liberating it from the freezer, so the question was where the hell had I put it? We turned the house upside down envisaging steak rotting away in a corner somewhere, only to find it, eventually, outside in the recycling bin. Bless.
On remembering that things are not how they used to be:
Further note to self - if you think there is any possibly that there is the teeniest amount of wee in your suddenly minuscule bladder, do not even entertain the possibility that you will be able to make it to work, or home from work, without coming close to exploding. All possible precautions must be made. Especially when considering sticking oneself in a car and hitting the Auckland motorway. It could be years before you reach your destination.
Sorry about the lack of No. 9 updates. I can't believe we are 10 weeks today - a quarter of the way there. It still seems completely surreal, minuscule bladder and puking included. But, I'm loving every second of it. Except for Saturday night ... No. 9 successfully reversed everything I've eaten, and a few things I'm sure I didn't, for about the last three weeks over a period of about half an hour. It wasn't pretty. Even the husband looked a bit green (I do wicked sound effects. I'm all about sharing the pain) when I eventually emerged from hell.
I'll have the husband take a pic of the kiddly house (which has taken on a rather strange shape I have to say) tonight.
And now, I absolutely have to eat a sugar donut. It's going to end in tears, I know, but it's a game kiddly and I love to play. Especially if I manage to partially digest it! It's like Christmas only ... not.
Thursday 19 June 2008
I wonder how long it will take for the cheese jokes?
Tuesday 17 June 2008
What? Did I kick a puppy or something?
I know I stood on a dog at about midnight, but she's pretty well used to that, and seriously, if you're going to sleep next to your bed instead of in it, right by where I stick my feet when I get up for my half-asleep midnight loo dash, there is going to be some carnage.
Anyway, firstly, it took me an hour and a half to get to work this morning. An hour and a half! I'm 9 weeks pregnant for heaven sake! I can't go an hour without peeing let alone an hour and a half. There should be a pregnant woman lane on the motorway. Or, we should at least be able to use the bus lane in case of bladder related emergencies. Honestly. I honestly thought I was going to pop.
Then, then I get a phone call in the middle of the day to confirm my beauty appointment for Saturday, but to say that my beloved therapist is leaving on Thursday. Leaving! She's leaving me! Now is not a good time to be leaving me! How on earth am I going to find another beauty therapist who will put up with me swearing my way through a bikini wax and leaping off the bed to hide every time she comes at me with said wax?
And since we're here, Harold the Clown, it is not safe to try and enter the motorway doing 45km per hour when the rest of the blimmin traffic that you're trying to amalgamate with is doing 100km per hour especially when I'm stuck behind you on the on ramp and therefore bound to do the same the same stupid speed and try and avoid getting nailed by the various enormous four wheel drives that Aucklanders seem to love to drive even though they only leave the road in them to drive up their driveways. There is a reason, Harold the Clown, that the 100km per hour speed limit is set right back at the beginning of the on ramp and there are stupid motorway control lights to make sure that you can reach an appropriate speed before hitting the motorway proper. You .... Clown. Also, your sign writing is crap.
OK. I think I'm done. Hormonal rage over and out.
(Oh, but full credit to me for being a genius and realising as I was heading home that I had to drive straight past a Diagnostic Medlab to get on the motorway, and for taking the barely-detour(instead of driving into Manurewa when I got home and wasting all that lovely expensive petrol), arriving right as Medlab had a dead patch, therefore managing to get in, have half my life force drained out of me (No. 9 related blood tests for no idea what), and be back on the road again in 10 minutes flat.)
Anyway, firstly, it took me an hour and a half to get to work this morning. An hour and a half! I'm 9 weeks pregnant for heaven sake! I can't go an hour without peeing let alone an hour and a half. There should be a pregnant woman lane on the motorway. Or, we should at least be able to use the bus lane in case of bladder related emergencies. Honestly. I honestly thought I was going to pop.
Then, then I get a phone call in the middle of the day to confirm my beauty appointment for Saturday, but to say that my beloved therapist is leaving on Thursday. Leaving! She's leaving me! Now is not a good time to be leaving me! How on earth am I going to find another beauty therapist who will put up with me swearing my way through a bikini wax and leaping off the bed to hide every time she comes at me with said wax?
And since we're here, Harold the Clown, it is not safe to try and enter the motorway doing 45km per hour when the rest of the blimmin traffic that you're trying to amalgamate with is doing 100km per hour especially when I'm stuck behind you on the on ramp and therefore bound to do the same the same stupid speed and try and avoid getting nailed by the various enormous four wheel drives that Aucklanders seem to love to drive even though they only leave the road in them to drive up their driveways. There is a reason, Harold the Clown, that the 100km per hour speed limit is set right back at the beginning of the on ramp and there are stupid motorway control lights to make sure that you can reach an appropriate speed before hitting the motorway proper. You .... Clown. Also, your sign writing is crap.
OK. I think I'm done. Hormonal rage over and out.
(Oh, but full credit to me for being a genius and realising as I was heading home that I had to drive straight past a Diagnostic Medlab to get on the motorway, and for taking the barely-detour(instead of driving into Manurewa when I got home and wasting all that lovely expensive petrol), arriving right as Medlab had a dead patch, therefore managing to get in, have half my life force drained out of me (No. 9 related blood tests for no idea what), and be back on the road again in 10 minutes flat.)
Monday 16 June 2008
On the subject of clangers ...
We're sitting in the obstetrician's room and, starts patting his pockets, turning over papers, examining the surface of his desk and looking about the office with a confused look on his face "I've lost my pen"
The husband "I hope you didn't leave it in your last patient"
Me, completely speechless, and completely unable to stop laughing, but still completely capable of belting the husband.
The husband "What? Doctors are always leaving things in patients."
(Apparently it didn't occur to the husband until afterwards actually where the obstetrician probably would have left his pen had he left it it the patient. Now he's almost a little bit embarrassed. Only almost though.)
Obviously, the appointment went well and our OB is worth his weight. Straight away he thought it very likely that the pain is coming from endo scarring (which also means that it's probably not really going to stop for the next seven months), but he also did a thorough ultrasound which showed that my ovaries are still pretty big and haven't really started to come back down again post-IVF (I also have scarring on my ovaries), and I also have follicles which haven't reabsorbed yet. So, I feel much better knowing where it's all coming from, and it's just going to be a case of symptom and pain management.
My uterus looks really good, and baby is perfectly cheerful still (with his little heart flickering away perfectly), even after the second bleed. He's changed so much in the last week - we last saw him last Tuesday, and in the meantime he's grown 6mm (from 16mm to 22mm), his head has become more defined and his limb formation is moving quickly. We could see little arms and clubbed hands, little legs curled up, and even a teeny tiny foot sticking up. He looks a lot more like a baby now - last week he was more a bean with a head. I still find it kind of weird that I can see him moving but I can't feel a thing, and won't until about 22 weeks.
So, very happy over here, and things are going well. The OB was a really good decision - we feel safe, and we feel that we're giving No. 9 the very best we can pre coming into the world.
And yay for having another scan so soon. The OB even said that I can come in for scans every couple of weeks if I want or need to ... although he did look like he'd probably put a hit out on me if I took him up on it. So, in theory, our next scan is mid-July when we do the 12/13 week scan which will be done at Ascot, and then I'll have another appointment with OB to cover the results. In the meantime, I'll just keep growing this kid and try not to bleed any more.
Oh, and I finish up my hormones about mid next week so I'm hoping that that might help things settle down a bit too. I'll feel like I'm finally leaving IVF behind for now once I'm done with them, which will be really very nice.
The husband "I hope you didn't leave it in your last patient"
Me, completely speechless, and completely unable to stop laughing, but still completely capable of belting the husband.
The husband "What? Doctors are always leaving things in patients."
(Apparently it didn't occur to the husband until afterwards actually where the obstetrician probably would have left his pen had he left it it the patient. Now he's almost a little bit embarrassed. Only almost though.)
Obviously, the appointment went well and our OB is worth his weight. Straight away he thought it very likely that the pain is coming from endo scarring (which also means that it's probably not really going to stop for the next seven months), but he also did a thorough ultrasound which showed that my ovaries are still pretty big and haven't really started to come back down again post-IVF (I also have scarring on my ovaries), and I also have follicles which haven't reabsorbed yet. So, I feel much better knowing where it's all coming from, and it's just going to be a case of symptom and pain management.
My uterus looks really good, and baby is perfectly cheerful still (with his little heart flickering away perfectly), even after the second bleed. He's changed so much in the last week - we last saw him last Tuesday, and in the meantime he's grown 6mm (from 16mm to 22mm), his head has become more defined and his limb formation is moving quickly. We could see little arms and clubbed hands, little legs curled up, and even a teeny tiny foot sticking up. He looks a lot more like a baby now - last week he was more a bean with a head. I still find it kind of weird that I can see him moving but I can't feel a thing, and won't until about 22 weeks.
So, very happy over here, and things are going well. The OB was a really good decision - we feel safe, and we feel that we're giving No. 9 the very best we can pre coming into the world.
And yay for having another scan so soon. The OB even said that I can come in for scans every couple of weeks if I want or need to ... although he did look like he'd probably put a hit out on me if I took him up on it. So, in theory, our next scan is mid-July when we do the 12/13 week scan which will be done at Ascot, and then I'll have another appointment with OB to cover the results. In the meantime, I'll just keep growing this kid and try not to bleed any more.
Oh, and I finish up my hormones about mid next week so I'm hoping that that might help things settle down a bit too. I'll feel like I'm finally leaving IVF behind for now once I'm done with them, which will be really very nice.
P.S.
We are obviously only doing this on the the following basis:
1. That it's actually a girl.
2. That it doesn't come out looking startlingly like a Gertrude.
3. That the husband doesn't get his hands on the name papers before I do.
Ergo, it's for option purposes only.
1. That it's actually a girl.
2. That it doesn't come out looking startlingly like a Gertrude.
3. That the husband doesn't get his hands on the name papers before I do.
Ergo, it's for option purposes only.
Can I make it cool just by pretending it is?
This is really bugging me. Really.
Despite No. 9 being referred to universally as 'him' by all parties, it was very much a default thing because I couldn't and can't bring myself to refer to the embryo as 'it'. I do, every now and again, but for the most part, it's 'him'. It seems so ...unwelcoming. And let's face it, the little toad isn't half giving us jip, so we want him to feel as welcome as possible. Said welcome, my mother tells me, would be very much assisted by my ceasing to refer to the baby as "the little bastard" each time it gives me another dreadful fright, nevermind calling it 'he' or 'she'. She may have a point. Plus there's that whole seventh wedding anniversary thing looming which kind of throws the bastard aspect out the window on a technicality...
Anywho, both the husband and I actually feel quite strongly that No. 9 is in fact, a girl. The husband has been convinced from day one, although I think that his feeling is based on a mortal fear of having a teen aged daughter down the track, and therefore he's of the opinion that Murphy's Law therefore dictates that 'he' is more than likely a she. For me, I was a teen aged girl. Enough said. Mostly, I was still running with the boy thing until a week or so ago when I had the strongest sense completely out of nowhere that I had it rather wrong. But, I've kept up the 'he' because it's annoying when people change their minds all the time and gender-speculating drives me batty. Plus it also meant that I could also still drop the thoughtful clanger, "Do you know, I might be growing a penis in me at the moment?" during a family dinner recently. I really hope my kid isn't like me personality-wise. Seriously. (Size-wise for birth though, we definitely want it taking after me more than the husband)
Anywho. Again. I have a point. Thinking about a girl leads me to casually thinking about a girl's name.
There is one name which I love but which is completely uncool, and therefore could potentially destroy kiddly's life (not to be too over-dramatic about it, of course). Except ...I love it. Really love it. It has ... something special. Personality perhaps.
Surely there is a way to make a name cool over the next seven months?
It's terrible because I'm so old-fashioned and I love old-fashioned things, especially names. Maybe I could say it's vintage, and therefore it may immediately zoom up the coolness scale (or not, of course. Ahem) ... but what happens when vintage isn't cool anymore? But then, perhaps my child deserves to be scarred for life as payback for the bleeding and the cramps. He/she ages me ten years, I stick him/her with a terrible name for about 80. It seems fair.
Sooo. To the polls!
Am I a terrible person for loving the name Harriet? Do I dare consider naming my kid that?
What say you?
I know you'll all be honest, and let's face it, you can always post anonymously or just do the poll if you don't want me to know who you are when you're confirming the hideousness.
And besides, it's better than Poppy. Right? I think the husband would hit me over the head with a spade if I tried to name it Poppy.
Despite No. 9 being referred to universally as 'him' by all parties, it was very much a default thing because I couldn't and can't bring myself to refer to the embryo as 'it'. I do, every now and again, but for the most part, it's 'him'. It seems so ...unwelcoming. And let's face it, the little toad isn't half giving us jip, so we want him to feel as welcome as possible. Said welcome, my mother tells me, would be very much assisted by my ceasing to refer to the baby as "the little bastard" each time it gives me another dreadful fright, nevermind calling it 'he' or 'she'. She may have a point. Plus there's that whole seventh wedding anniversary thing looming which kind of throws the bastard aspect out the window on a technicality...
Anywho, both the husband and I actually feel quite strongly that No. 9 is in fact, a girl. The husband has been convinced from day one, although I think that his feeling is based on a mortal fear of having a teen aged daughter down the track, and therefore he's of the opinion that Murphy's Law therefore dictates that 'he' is more than likely a she. For me, I was a teen aged girl. Enough said. Mostly, I was still running with the boy thing until a week or so ago when I had the strongest sense completely out of nowhere that I had it rather wrong. But, I've kept up the 'he' because it's annoying when people change their minds all the time and gender-speculating drives me batty. Plus it also meant that I could also still drop the thoughtful clanger, "Do you know, I might be growing a penis in me at the moment?" during a family dinner recently. I really hope my kid isn't like me personality-wise. Seriously. (Size-wise for birth though, we definitely want it taking after me more than the husband)
Anywho. Again. I have a point. Thinking about a girl leads me to casually thinking about a girl's name.
There is one name which I love but which is completely uncool, and therefore could potentially destroy kiddly's life (not to be too over-dramatic about it, of course). Except ...I love it. Really love it. It has ... something special. Personality perhaps.
Surely there is a way to make a name cool over the next seven months?
It's terrible because I'm so old-fashioned and I love old-fashioned things, especially names. Maybe I could say it's vintage, and therefore it may immediately zoom up the coolness scale (or not, of course. Ahem) ... but what happens when vintage isn't cool anymore? But then, perhaps my child deserves to be scarred for life as payback for the bleeding and the cramps. He/she ages me ten years, I stick him/her with a terrible name for about 80. It seems fair.
Sooo. To the polls!
Am I a terrible person for loving the name Harriet? Do I dare consider naming my kid that?
What say you?
I know you'll all be honest, and let's face it, you can always post anonymously or just do the poll if you don't want me to know who you are when you're confirming the hideousness.
And besides, it's better than Poppy. Right? I think the husband would hit me over the head with a spade if I tried to name it Poppy.
Sunday 15 June 2008
Blogging companions
The husband is playing his xbox, and he gets very growly when he's playing xbox, so the fur kids have decided that hanging with me (slash hiding in another part of the house) is the better option. So cute. I'm not entirely sure how Jack figures that that sleeping position is a particularly clever one but he is breathing on the back of my feet at the moment which is keeping them warm. Handy things dogs.
A slice of life
Me "I want a cheeseburger"
The husband, raises eyebrows
Me "I really want a cheeseburger"
The husband "A McDonald's one?"
Me "Yes. I want a McDonald's cheeseburger."
The husband "No"
Me "I want a Kebab then"
The husband "No"
Me "Subway?"
The husband "No"
Me, *sigh*
Me "I feel like cheese on toast?"
The husband "Yes you do. You can have cheese on toast"
Me, *sigh*
The husband, raises eyebrows
Me "I really want a cheeseburger"
The husband "A McDonald's one?"
Me "Yes. I want a McDonald's cheeseburger."
The husband "No"
Me "I want a Kebab then"
The husband "No"
Me "Subway?"
The husband "No"
Me, *sigh*
Me "I feel like cheese on toast?"
The husband "Yes you do. You can have cheese on toast"
Me, *sigh*
Body behaving badly
I'm working my way around it, but it's completely exhausting in the meantime.
Friday morning I woke to pretty bad cramping and had to take my time, more than normal, getting ready for work. I spent most of the day feeling like my insides had been dug out with a blunt spoon. Very uncool. But, taking it veeeery slowly, the rest of the day passed with nothing much more than strong twinges. Strong twinges I don't mind - kiddly is growing after all, and things must stretch. And, considering my middle is the only part of me in pretty good shape (a fluke, I assure you), it has to stretch quite a bit.
Saturday was a very long day however. I woke a bit before 2am with a full bladder, and did my usual stagger down the hallway, trying not to trip over assorted animals and my own feet. Mission accomplished, I started to feel quite crampy, but figured crawling back into bed would sort that out. Yeah ...not so much. The pain built quickly and ferociously until I couldn't stand it. I've only ever been in that much pain once or twice before, and I really would prefer to save practising for labour until a little closer to the time. So, a little after 2am, I collapsed in the shower hoping that the warm water would take the edge off enough that I could cope with it.
And then, at about 7am, the bleeding started. Again. Or rather I should say it gushed out (yes, very lovely, I know) as soon as I stood upright, so it probably started around the time I crawled back into bed truth be told. And it kept up, all blimmin day (not heavily though, thank goodness). Obviously, I made it as far as the couch and again, tried to move as little as possible throughout the day. Again.
Today I'm following the same plan. Quietly does it and all that. The bleeding had stopped by last night, and there has been no more today. I swear, in the last week, I have aged 10 years. There should be a standard cosmic veto on this sort of crap happening to an IVF parent. Seriously.
I'm trying my best to take careful note of what seems to be making what's probably normal (twinging, stretching etc), a whole lot worse (unbearable, curled-in-a-ball-in-tears pain). So far I think that the very worst thing I can let happen is for me to have a full bladder. That seems to be the beginning of the end. So, last night, I set my alarm, got up twice in the night (the first time around midnight, an hour or two earlier than I normally wake up) and things seem relatively calm today. And what the hell, right? it's not like I'm going to get any sleep once kiddly is here anyway.
Friday morning I woke to pretty bad cramping and had to take my time, more than normal, getting ready for work. I spent most of the day feeling like my insides had been dug out with a blunt spoon. Very uncool. But, taking it veeeery slowly, the rest of the day passed with nothing much more than strong twinges. Strong twinges I don't mind - kiddly is growing after all, and things must stretch. And, considering my middle is the only part of me in pretty good shape (a fluke, I assure you), it has to stretch quite a bit.
Saturday was a very long day however. I woke a bit before 2am with a full bladder, and did my usual stagger down the hallway, trying not to trip over assorted animals and my own feet. Mission accomplished, I started to feel quite crampy, but figured crawling back into bed would sort that out. Yeah ...not so much. The pain built quickly and ferociously until I couldn't stand it. I've only ever been in that much pain once or twice before, and I really would prefer to save practising for labour until a little closer to the time. So, a little after 2am, I collapsed in the shower hoping that the warm water would take the edge off enough that I could cope with it.
And then, at about 7am, the bleeding started. Again. Or rather I should say it gushed out (yes, very lovely, I know) as soon as I stood upright, so it probably started around the time I crawled back into bed truth be told. And it kept up, all blimmin day (not heavily though, thank goodness). Obviously, I made it as far as the couch and again, tried to move as little as possible throughout the day. Again.
Today I'm following the same plan. Quietly does it and all that. The bleeding had stopped by last night, and there has been no more today. I swear, in the last week, I have aged 10 years. There should be a standard cosmic veto on this sort of crap happening to an IVF parent. Seriously.
I'm trying my best to take careful note of what seems to be making what's probably normal (twinging, stretching etc), a whole lot worse (unbearable, curled-in-a-ball-in-tears pain). So far I think that the very worst thing I can let happen is for me to have a full bladder. That seems to be the beginning of the end. So, last night, I set my alarm, got up twice in the night (the first time around midnight, an hour or two earlier than I normally wake up) and things seem relatively calm today. And what the hell, right? it's not like I'm going to get any sleep once kiddly is here anyway.
Friday 13 June 2008
Things that amuse us
People giving my stomach obvious, suspicious sidelong glances, unable to bring themselves to ask if I am in a delicate condition in case I'm just getting fat, but hoping I'll volunteer the information.
I find that if I meet their eye and smile sweetly at them, it adds to my general amusement because mostly they go a bit cross-eyed with frustration.
Hehe.
(Also, No. 9 continues to be a complete toad with terrible cramping (eye watering stuff I can tell you) to start the day this morning so my plan is to keep the couch warm all weekend and see what my OB (obstetrician) has to say on Monday. I think it's the scarring from my endo surgery and lesions tearing, or possibly adhesion pain - thankfully the practice has 2 other OB's who specialise in endo type stuff so hopefully they'll have a clue. Obviously though, the OB was a good call.)
I find that if I meet their eye and smile sweetly at them, it adds to my general amusement because mostly they go a bit cross-eyed with frustration.
Hehe.
(Also, No. 9 continues to be a complete toad with terrible cramping (eye watering stuff I can tell you) to start the day this morning so my plan is to keep the couch warm all weekend and see what my OB (obstetrician) has to say on Monday. I think it's the scarring from my endo surgery and lesions tearing, or possibly adhesion pain - thankfully the practice has 2 other OB's who specialise in endo type stuff so hopefully they'll have a clue. Obviously though, the OB was a good call.)
Tuesday 10 June 2008
No. 9 gets grounded
Until 20th January 2009. No negotiations.
I started bleeding last night. Or, at least, I bled. I'd been having lots of cramping during the afternoon, but since I've been crampy-pregnant since day one anyway, I didn't really worry too much. I just took it easy. The husband and I took the dogs for a walk at the park, drove down, ambled around, and I had a sit down part way through feeling like a noddy for being a bit pathetic. And then, not long after I got home I felt this ... rush I guess. Girls, like when you have your period and you feel it go. Do you know what I mean? I sort of clocked it being odd, but it didn't really register. Then it happened again shortly after and that one registered. But I still wasn't expecting to see a lot of bright red blood when I went to get undressed for a shower.
It's funny how your mind works. The whole time I was standing there, rooting to the spot, saying "oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no..." my rational mind is saying - there's nothing you can do to stop this. If you're going to lose the baby, you will. Use your brain - go and get a pad or something so you have a gauge to measure the blood loss from here and have something to catch residue in case it wants testing or something. Don't use your mooncup because you won't be able to see what's happening and you won't be able to give anyone any information.
And I couldn't move a muscle. I just stared, and tried to breathe. And then, because No. 9 seems to have his mother's dark little sense of humour, I puked. Bless. I'd like to think he was trying to tell me it was ok, but I think he was probably just being a toad.
From there, I swear I checked what was happening about every 10 minutes, but there was no more blood. Just the one decent whoosh and that was that. There wasn't even spotting, which is probably the only reason I stayed sane overnight. I didn't get a lot of sleep though, especially when the cramps ramped up and a most unholy backache set in.
But, before bed, the husband gave No. 9 a complete telling off and grounded him, and somehow that made me feel better. The husband can be very forceful when he's telling off. I usually do what he says. OK, well, sometimes. Either way, because he'd told No. 9 to stay, I felt better.
The hospitals were completely useless - I rang the Clinic which I knew would be on answerphone overnight, but which I also knew provided an emergency number. That number goes to National Women's, who told me to ring Auckland Hospital Women's Assessment Unit who told me to ring someone else. No idea who. The lady on the phone sounded Russian and the only thing I took in was the phone number. The phone number which wasn't being answered. I got there in the end, but there was very little help to be had other than being told that I was either having a miscarriage, which I'd know (yes, I did, thanks very much), or an early pregnancy bleed (no shit).
So, I waiting until this morning and rang the Clinic again and they brought me in for a scan at 11.45am. Al and I had been holding our collective breath all night so were obviously feeling very wrung out, and even the Clinic staff were pretty serious when we got in there. We were told that blood would be ok, but blood and cramping were a really bad sign. But then, we knew it didn't look good.
And there he was. No. 9. Bouncing away (literally! Even the Dr laughed), happy as a clam, with a good strong, rapid foetal heartbeat. Safe as houses. Or rather, as safe as houses as an IVF foetus gets. And there were really big smiles from the nurse and the doctor, blimmin girly tears from me, and a very, very relieved and happy husband (and possibly a sniffle, but I couldn't take my eyes off the screen to check). We also got our first photo, which I can't stop looking at. Our little kiddly. Measuring a perfect 8 weeks, one day ahead of where we thought he was.
Suffice it to say, I've been severely warned by my body as to overdoing it, and will be taking due heed of said warning. I spent the day plastered on the couch, gave in to a sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon, and I'll be having an early night tonight. The Clinic told me not to go back to work while I was still having issues and reminded me of the higher risks of IVF pregnancies, so I'll be transferring from bed to couch and staying there again tomorrow.
We've been recommended to go with an OB for our maternity care, and there was no question of that ads far as the husband was concerned, cost be damned. I'll be getting a move on with that budgety seriousness post that's for sure - we're not covered by our insurance on that one. Definitely no more shopping ever. But then, I could hardly give a toss too. I booked in with the OB as soon as I got home. It's one of the specialists from the clinic, he's been really good through our cycle and he did No. 9's scan today, so I'm very comfortable staying with him. We know, and it was reiterated to us that we would get perfectly good service from the hospitals and a midwife, but aside from the fact that it was strongly suggested we have a doctor involved, all things considered, I want to feel safe, and I want someone on call. This kid is arriving safely, and that is that.
There you have it - 'twas a very eventful night and day, but it's ended well and we feel like someone was listening while we prayed out hearts out last night and this morning. Even though we did use swear words.
And on that note, I'm going back to look at the picture of our baby again.
Oh, and there is most definitely only one of him.
I started bleeding last night. Or, at least, I bled. I'd been having lots of cramping during the afternoon, but since I've been crampy-pregnant since day one anyway, I didn't really worry too much. I just took it easy. The husband and I took the dogs for a walk at the park, drove down, ambled around, and I had a sit down part way through feeling like a noddy for being a bit pathetic. And then, not long after I got home I felt this ... rush I guess. Girls, like when you have your period and you feel it go. Do you know what I mean? I sort of clocked it being odd, but it didn't really register. Then it happened again shortly after and that one registered. But I still wasn't expecting to see a lot of bright red blood when I went to get undressed for a shower.
It's funny how your mind works. The whole time I was standing there, rooting to the spot, saying "oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no..." my rational mind is saying - there's nothing you can do to stop this. If you're going to lose the baby, you will. Use your brain - go and get a pad or something so you have a gauge to measure the blood loss from here and have something to catch residue in case it wants testing or something. Don't use your mooncup because you won't be able to see what's happening and you won't be able to give anyone any information.
And I couldn't move a muscle. I just stared, and tried to breathe. And then, because No. 9 seems to have his mother's dark little sense of humour, I puked. Bless. I'd like to think he was trying to tell me it was ok, but I think he was probably just being a toad.
From there, I swear I checked what was happening about every 10 minutes, but there was no more blood. Just the one decent whoosh and that was that. There wasn't even spotting, which is probably the only reason I stayed sane overnight. I didn't get a lot of sleep though, especially when the cramps ramped up and a most unholy backache set in.
But, before bed, the husband gave No. 9 a complete telling off and grounded him, and somehow that made me feel better. The husband can be very forceful when he's telling off. I usually do what he says. OK, well, sometimes. Either way, because he'd told No. 9 to stay, I felt better.
The hospitals were completely useless - I rang the Clinic which I knew would be on answerphone overnight, but which I also knew provided an emergency number. That number goes to National Women's, who told me to ring Auckland Hospital Women's Assessment Unit who told me to ring someone else. No idea who. The lady on the phone sounded Russian and the only thing I took in was the phone number. The phone number which wasn't being answered. I got there in the end, but there was very little help to be had other than being told that I was either having a miscarriage, which I'd know (yes, I did, thanks very much), or an early pregnancy bleed (no shit).
So, I waiting until this morning and rang the Clinic again and they brought me in for a scan at 11.45am. Al and I had been holding our collective breath all night so were obviously feeling very wrung out, and even the Clinic staff were pretty serious when we got in there. We were told that blood would be ok, but blood and cramping were a really bad sign. But then, we knew it didn't look good.
And there he was. No. 9. Bouncing away (literally! Even the Dr laughed), happy as a clam, with a good strong, rapid foetal heartbeat. Safe as houses. Or rather, as safe as houses as an IVF foetus gets. And there were really big smiles from the nurse and the doctor, blimmin girly tears from me, and a very, very relieved and happy husband (and possibly a sniffle, but I couldn't take my eyes off the screen to check). We also got our first photo, which I can't stop looking at. Our little kiddly. Measuring a perfect 8 weeks, one day ahead of where we thought he was.
Suffice it to say, I've been severely warned by my body as to overdoing it, and will be taking due heed of said warning. I spent the day plastered on the couch, gave in to a sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon, and I'll be having an early night tonight. The Clinic told me not to go back to work while I was still having issues and reminded me of the higher risks of IVF pregnancies, so I'll be transferring from bed to couch and staying there again tomorrow.
We've been recommended to go with an OB for our maternity care, and there was no question of that ads far as the husband was concerned, cost be damned. I'll be getting a move on with that budgety seriousness post that's for sure - we're not covered by our insurance on that one. Definitely no more shopping ever. But then, I could hardly give a toss too. I booked in with the OB as soon as I got home. It's one of the specialists from the clinic, he's been really good through our cycle and he did No. 9's scan today, so I'm very comfortable staying with him. We know, and it was reiterated to us that we would get perfectly good service from the hospitals and a midwife, but aside from the fact that it was strongly suggested we have a doctor involved, all things considered, I want to feel safe, and I want someone on call. This kid is arriving safely, and that is that.
There you have it - 'twas a very eventful night and day, but it's ended well and we feel like someone was listening while we prayed out hearts out last night and this morning. Even though we did use swear words.
And on that note, I'm going back to look at the picture of our baby again.
Oh, and there is most definitely only one of him.
Friday 6 June 2008
Things we are grateful for
That motorway traffic was unbelievably light on the same day that I left for work 15 minutes late because No. 9 decided that he did not want two eggs for breakfast afterall. Apparently he likes one egg for breakfast. Just one. Not two. With some toast perhaps, but definitely only one. He could've mentioned it. A headsup, as opposed to breakfastup would have been preferable.
And now, a quandary. I ration myself to two cups of tea a day. Or one cup of tea and one coffee. Either way, only two caffeinated drinks. What I'd like to know is, if one of said caffeinated drinks barely hits your stomach before reversing itself, does it count as caffeine intake bearing in mind that you only took it in for about half a minute? Do I start back at zero now, or am I one down, even though it came up? Surely it doesn't count as both caffeinated drinks because you had it twice. That'd just be evil.
Oh, and newsflash - I've found that somehow, Salt & Vinegar chips possess magical properties in relation to easing morning sickness. Even better, a whole bag of Salt & Vinegar chips costs the same as one preggie pop (although is not so easily transportable, and is a bit more obvious). Plus, I can still breathe while I eat them. Bonus!
And now, a quandary. I ration myself to two cups of tea a day. Or one cup of tea and one coffee. Either way, only two caffeinated drinks. What I'd like to know is, if one of said caffeinated drinks barely hits your stomach before reversing itself, does it count as caffeine intake bearing in mind that you only took it in for about half a minute? Do I start back at zero now, or am I one down, even though it came up? Surely it doesn't count as both caffeinated drinks because you had it twice. That'd just be evil.
Oh, and newsflash - I've found that somehow, Salt & Vinegar chips possess magical properties in relation to easing morning sickness. Even better, a whole bag of Salt & Vinegar chips costs the same as one preggie pop (although is not so easily transportable, and is a bit more obvious). Plus, I can still breathe while I eat them. Bonus!
Wednesday 4 June 2008
If I just keep eating, everything will be ok
Seriously. No. 9 reeeally likes food. If I keep eating, he keeps quiet. It seems like an ok deal, as long as he's not making me eat anything vile.
Am I getting boring? Talking about pregnancy stuff? Do I need to mix it up a little? Go shopping perhaps? (that reminds me - I'm still working on (slash hiding from) my budgety seriousness post. I must finish that. The problem is that I take one look at the budget that inspired contemplation of the post and next thing I'm curled up on the floor rocking to and fro and all my shoes and handbags are flashing before my eyes and that's the end of it).
The thing with going on (and on and on) about the pregnancy stuff, even though you're getting bored, is this:
Firstly, it's cool.
Secondly, I never thought I'd be able to.
Thirdly, I'm too damn tired to do anything else that would give me something (anything!) else to talk about (except for the vacuum cleaner of course, and we can blame the tired for dropping it in the water and trying to blow myself up).
Fourthly, it's my blog and it's here to indulge me.
Ergo, as long as I'm not bored, I can go on as much as I like. Weee!
The cold's reign of terror (yes, perhaps a little exaggerated, but I'm hormonal. I can exaggerate as much as I like) continues today, and consequently I still haven't forgiven the husband for giving it to me, bless him ...and bless me too while we're at it because much sneezing has been going on. And since we're talking about sneezing, have you ever tried to have a fit of sneezing whilst being taken over by morning sickness? You should not be able to do both things at the same time. There should be rules. Exclusions. It should be like sneezing with your eyes open. Impossible. But, as it happens, it's entirely possible, and yes, quite disgusting, although I urge you not to picture it. All I will say is thank goodness that I was in the shower at the time. On a positive note, big ups to No. 9 for actually giving me morning sickness in the morning. Clever wee soul. Never mind that he kept it up all day after that.
And on the topic of morning sickness and colds, I've discovered a slight issue with the preggie pops (aside from having run out, and their being $9.95 for 6). Having a cold makes nausea a lot worse, which requires preggie pops to get through the working day. No preggie pops = continuing revolting nausea. Preggie pops with a cold that is causing ones nose to be blocked = air supply cut off. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Still, for all that I am feeling cheerful. I was in at the clinic this afternoon and after a quick debate as to whether or not I might be able to run down the hall and give myself a scan before anyone noticed, I jumped on the scales and I haven't put on any weight as yet ... I've lost 2kg! I'm assuming it's a 100% increase in raw carrots in my diet, and a complete lack of chocolate brownies.
Am I getting boring? Talking about pregnancy stuff? Do I need to mix it up a little? Go shopping perhaps? (that reminds me - I'm still working on (slash hiding from) my budgety seriousness post. I must finish that. The problem is that I take one look at the budget that inspired contemplation of the post and next thing I'm curled up on the floor rocking to and fro and all my shoes and handbags are flashing before my eyes and that's the end of it).
The thing with going on (and on and on) about the pregnancy stuff, even though you're getting bored, is this:
Firstly, it's cool.
Secondly, I never thought I'd be able to.
Thirdly, I'm too damn tired to do anything else that would give me something (anything!) else to talk about (except for the vacuum cleaner of course, and we can blame the tired for dropping it in the water and trying to blow myself up).
Fourthly, it's my blog and it's here to indulge me.
Ergo, as long as I'm not bored, I can go on as much as I like. Weee!
The cold's reign of terror (yes, perhaps a little exaggerated, but I'm hormonal. I can exaggerate as much as I like) continues today, and consequently I still haven't forgiven the husband for giving it to me, bless him ...and bless me too while we're at it because much sneezing has been going on. And since we're talking about sneezing, have you ever tried to have a fit of sneezing whilst being taken over by morning sickness? You should not be able to do both things at the same time. There should be rules. Exclusions. It should be like sneezing with your eyes open. Impossible. But, as it happens, it's entirely possible, and yes, quite disgusting, although I urge you not to picture it. All I will say is thank goodness that I was in the shower at the time. On a positive note, big ups to No. 9 for actually giving me morning sickness in the morning. Clever wee soul. Never mind that he kept it up all day after that.
And on the topic of morning sickness and colds, I've discovered a slight issue with the preggie pops (aside from having run out, and their being $9.95 for 6). Having a cold makes nausea a lot worse, which requires preggie pops to get through the working day. No preggie pops = continuing revolting nausea. Preggie pops with a cold that is causing ones nose to be blocked = air supply cut off. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Still, for all that I am feeling cheerful. I was in at the clinic this afternoon and after a quick debate as to whether or not I might be able to run down the hall and give myself a scan before anyone noticed, I jumped on the scales and I haven't put on any weight as yet ... I've lost 2kg! I'm assuming it's a 100% increase in raw carrots in my diet, and a complete lack of chocolate brownies.
Noddy of the year award goes to ...
Yours truly for accidentally (obviously) dropping the vacuum cleaner nozzle into the dogs' water bowl and sucking up about a litre of water.
Water isn't very good for vacuum cleaners.
Water isn't very good for vacuum cleaners.
Tuesday 3 June 2008
Very crappy indeed
Two people who I love dearly have suffered a very sad loss today.
There is far too much heartache in this world of ours. Far, far too much.
There is far too much heartache in this world of ours. Far, far too much.
The husband is a bad, cold-sharing person
I should have made his diseased carcass move into Jack's kennel for a month with that first harmless sounding sniffle. I should have known it wasn't harmless. It's never harmless. What makes the husband sniffle tends to have a slightly more steam-roller like effect on those of us half his size.
To make matters worse, No. 9 has developed a great passion for cheese (apparently he appreciates that it is $16.00 a block, but he doesn't have his own money yet so we're to put it on his tab), and have you ever tried to balance cheese scoffing with lemon and honey drink sculling? Ack.
We have our first scan in just over a week to see how things are going (next Thursday). In the meantime, I seem to be falling asleep on the couch on a nightly basis, the morning/noon/afternoon/evening/night sickness has it's own little pattern of behaviour which I'm not even going to try and analyse, and the husband thinks my boobs are defective because they haven't started growing yet. Apparently this is completely unacceptable to a pervy husband.
To make matters worse, No. 9 has developed a great passion for cheese (apparently he appreciates that it is $16.00 a block, but he doesn't have his own money yet so we're to put it on his tab), and have you ever tried to balance cheese scoffing with lemon and honey drink sculling? Ack.
We have our first scan in just over a week to see how things are going (next Thursday). In the meantime, I seem to be falling asleep on the couch on a nightly basis, the morning/noon/afternoon/evening/night sickness has it's own little pattern of behaviour which I'm not even going to try and analyse, and the husband thinks my boobs are defective because they haven't started growing yet. Apparently this is completely unacceptable to a pervy husband.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)